


disappointment.

by clickingkeyboards



Series: Autistic!Bertie [1]
Category: Murder Most Unladylike Series - Robin Stevens
Genre: Autistic!Bertie Wells, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Verbal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27582005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clickingkeyboards/pseuds/clickingkeyboards
Summary: ”Don’t touch me.”Bertie Wells is a professional at avoiding change. This might be, he considers, the reason why he cannot cope with The Trial.(Autistic!Bertie because I say so)“Please.”
Relationships: Felix Mountfitchet & Bertie Wells, Felix Mountfitchet/Lucy Mountfitchet
Series: Autistic!Bertie [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017454
Kudos: 18





	disappointment.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Give_Me_A_Karking_KitKat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Give_Me_A_Karking_KitKat/gifts).



“He did a piteous thing, Bertie.”

“I know. It was a hideous thing.”

“Then—“ Felix pinched the bridge of his nose. “Bertie, what about this isn’t getting through to you?”

He tapped his shoe on the carpet, careful to fit it between the floral patterns. “Why am I not allowed to love him because of what he did? You aren’t answering my question.”

“Bertie…” Sitting down beside him on the bed, Felix placed a comforting hand on his knee.

“Don’t touch me. Please.”

Sighing, Felix moved away. “You never used to have this trouble.” When Bertie didn’t reply, he tried another approach. “Who would you want to touch you?”

“ _ Him _ .”

As one might talk to a slow child, he replied, “But he  _ can’t _ , Bertie.”

“Then nobody can touch me.”

Nodding in understanding, Felix let out a heavy breath and said, “You ought to talk to somebody.”

“I don’t want to.”

As close as he could be without touching, Felix whispered a gravelly and comforting, “I’m here.”

Glancing at his uncle for a brief moment before fixing his gaze on the ground once more, Bertie muttered, “So you are.”

* * *

“Mister Wells,” intoned the judge in an imploring voice that made Bertie wince, “begin your testimony at once.”

Leaning away from the stand, Bertie pressed a hand to his face and whined, shaking his head.

“AT ONCE!”

“Don’t do that to him,” said the figure positioned pride of place as the defendant, raising his gaze from the stand for the first time that day. “Don’t force him to speak when he’s physically unable to.”

Bertie felt a lump forming in his throat.  _ Why is the only person who understands me across a courtroom from my touch? _

“Bertie,” Felix said, reaching out a hand to put on his shoulder.

With a low moan in the back of his throat, Bertie grabbed Felix’s hand and pushed it off.

“Bertie!” snapped Lady Hastings. “Bertie, you stupid boy, get up there and tell the judge about how exactly Stephen came to be in possession of those keys.”

“It wasn’t Bertie’s fault,” Mrs Doherty snapped from her place. “How was he to know?”

It felt as if his brain were tying in knots. He was being tugged every which way by every comment and only wanting to side with a killer. He longed to run across the courtroom and throw himself into Stephen’s arms, sob his forgiveness and forget the murder and beg him to make it all okay again.

He always could. One touch, one kiss, one trace of his heart line.

“Bertie.”

Stephen hadn’t said his name since before the arrest.

“Bertie!” Uncle Felix shouted as he stumbled back from the stand, hands twisted over his ears, fingers mangled and splayed out across his face.

“Bertie! Bertie! Bertie!”

His own name echoed in his ears as he ran, slamming the door to the gents and breathing hard, gasping through retching and trying as hard as he could to throw up his feelings. 

* * *

Bertie Wells did not testify for the first two weeks of the trial.

“Don’t make him go into that courtroom, Margret,” Felix scolded. “He’s not ready.”

“He has to do it eventually, he’s just being dramatic!” Lady Hastings tutted, sipping at her champagne. “That diagnosis was a mistake, it’s made him all sorts of troublesome.”

Without another word, he got up from his seat and walked into the lobby to ensure that the attendants at the front desk wouldn’t tell her which room her son was staying in. 

* * *

Bertie Wells could not speak.

“Your sister wants to call you, Bertie,” Felix said softly, holding out his phone for him to look at. “What do you want me to tell her?”

He shook his head and shrugged, turning on his heel and leaving the room. With a sigh, Felix replied,  _ Sorry, Daisy, he’s quite overwhelmed right now. _

_ I know the feeling. Istanbul is a whole thing, but the American boy isn’t that bad in small doses. _

Chuckling, he replied,  _ He seemed like a lot when I saw him on the train. I wish you luck with that. _

Her reply came swiftly, accompanied by a photo of herself and Hazel standing before a particularly beautiful building, Daisy wearing ear defenders and Hazel holding some street food.  _ Neurotypicals are exhausting but Hazel is the exception. Give Bertie a kiss from me.  _

* * *

Bertie Wells would not shower or eat or drink unless he was made to.

“Why should I?”

Felix pinched the bridge of his nose. “You said that it’s making you feel disgusting. Having a shower or a bath would fix that issue.”

“But I don’t…” He clenched his fists and turned away. “I’m not trying to be annoying! I just can’t bring myself to do it, alright?”

Nodding, he sat down on the edge of the bed and averted eye contact, as Bertie preferred. “Alright. Do you want me to stay with you, or leave and check up on you in an hour?”

“Leave me alone, please.”

He reached for his shoes and said, “Will do. I’ll bring you some food when I come back, alright?”

“As long as it’s decent, I’ll make the effort to try.”

When Felix turned to look at Bertie, he was smiling.

* * *

Bertie Wells was made fun of in the papers.

Lucy dropped the newspaper on the table between them with minimal tact.  _ NON-VERBAL OR NON-COOPERATIVE? _ “I think it’s safe to say that we made a mistake using that term in court.”

“I thought that this might happen,” he admitted. “Should we tell Bertie?”

“He deserves to know what’s being said about him.” Her expression was set when he looked at her, lips coloured a cherry red and dark eyes alight with determination. Swallowing hard, he looked back down at the paper. 

“I’ll, eh— I’ll just grab him some food and take this paper up to him,” he fumbled, scrambling away from the table with impressive speed as Lucy laughed, barely bothering to disguise it behind her hand. 

* * *

Bertie Wells did not care.

“Why should I care?” he asked, ruffling his curls with one hand. They were still slightly damp and drooping from his shower but Felix had the sense to realise that a hairdryer would be pushing at the limits of his senses. “They’re all ableist idiots.”

“Excellent policy, Bertie,” Lucy replied with a smile, adjusting her blouse. “Is there lipstick on my teeth?”

Felix could feel his nephew giving him a very pointed look as he looked her up and down. “Um, no, you look, I mean— you look great.”

Straightening his tie, Bertie muttered, “ _ Neurotypicals _ ,” and rushed ahead of them, up the stairs and into the courthouse.


End file.
